Classified Pornography
by colossally abundant numbers
Summary: In which France makes a brilliant discovery on England's laptop. The mistake of not encrypting his classified "documents" would pain England for decades to come, but amuse France to no end.


**Summary:** The mistake of not encrypting his classified documents would pain England for decades to come, but amuse France to no end.

* * *

France was quite sure that England had a comprehensive collection of pornographic materials on his personal laptop. For the longest time, however, he wasn't completely sure. The discovery had been made after a series of drunken bets on their respective Eurovision entries. Both knew that neither had any chance of winning, and had proceeded to drink themselves into a haze. France, in a previously unseen bout of generosity, had offered to transfer a few old Eurovision songs onto England's laptop, ones from years where they'd actually _won._

This was when it all happened. France saw a most intriguing folder titled 'Official Documents of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland'. A highly, _highly_ intriguing folder, for it was unencrypted, and France knew that no nation, no matter how stupid (and England was far from stupid), would have kept their official documents unencrypted on their personal laptop. So he'd clicked through to sate his curiosity.

Apparently England liked to categorize his official documents under two directories: 'classified' and 'unclassified'. He clicked on the 'classified' icon, marveling at just how _unencrypted_ England's supposedly classified documents were. France saw a mess of years, ranging from-lord behold-1100 to 2001. England, he thought with wonder, had electronic records of his still-classified documents from the 1100s? He found this difficult to believe, and continued his investigation with great fervor.

Multiple clicks and several folders deeper, he saw something marvelous in the 1810 folder. Not only was the folder's name in French(_le vice anglais_), which France highly appreciated, but it was very clearly _not_ an official document, and its contents were quite...savory. _le vice anglais_, France crooned to himself in excitement, marveling at his language's utter accuracy in nailing down the sexual perversions of his neighbor across the channel.

France clicked a particular text file, and scanned down to the middle for a quick sample:

"_Young lady, such behavior is intolerable from one such as yourself. What do you have to say for yourself?" The headmistress stood at her desk, face fixed with a most stern look._

"_I'm sorry, miss, I..." the girl trailed off, afraid._

"_I'm waiting." The headmistress tapped the pen in her hand against the table impatiently._

"_I'm sorry," the girl bit out hesitantly, horribly embarrassed because she knew that the headmistress was waiting for her to ask for it, "I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have talked back in class today. I'm very sorry, I deserve a...sound...caning. On...on my bare bottom."_

France barely choked down his laughter. It really was _le vice anglais_. He closed the offending text file, and looked through England's collection of videos, text files, and a most curious document with a French title—ahh, yes, the infamous _Histoire d'O_. He marveled further at the fact that England had chosen to keep it in the original French, instead of reading the much-ruined translation into English. He was, of course, disappointed to discover no Marquis de Sade in England's lovely collection, something he would be sure to rectify in upcoming days.

* * *

"England," France began soon after he'd finished the work of transferring the old songs. "I have a curious question about your language. Would you care to discuss the matter with me?"

England, true to form, immediately narrowed his eyes upon seeing France, suspicion written everywhere. "Where is my laptop, you bastard?" he asked, ignoring France's request.

"Ah, it is with me. Do not worry, even I, a _bastard_, would not stoop so low as to steal your laptop, despite whatever perversions you may consider me to possess." France gave him a grin to counterbalance the negativity of his neighbor's scowl.

"Very well. Give it here," England snapped, holding out his arms expectantly.

France nodded cordially, handing back the laptop. "There you have it, I did not steal or break your laptop, see? You should have trusted Belgium when she promised you nothing would happen."

"Belgium speaks your unspeakable language, and she forcibly obtained my laptop from me. Why in the world would I trust her?" England huffed, annoyed.

"Oh, England, Belgium was merely trying to give you a bit of hope, raise your drunken spirits—you know, back from when we used to win Eurovision, and not just...well." France cleared his throat, mildly embarrassed about his own record in the contest. "In any case, I was going to ask you if you'd like to join me for a short discussion of your language."

"I don't see why I should want to discuss my language with _you_," England grumbled, shooting France an accusatory look, "You would simply butcher it to no end."

France shook his head in denial. "Ah, now, now England, I thought the _butchering_ of the English language was typically done by America, right? My language, on the other hand, happens to be the origin of many of the scientific and higher class words in your language, so—"

"I still do not see why I should spend any more time than necessary in your company," England continued evenly, trying his hardest not to remember the dastardly Norman invasions of yesteryear.

"Indeed, so would you rather that I ask America about the origins of your—"

"No!" England yelled, and France nearly laughed at the immediate one-eighty he was sure England would make the minute he mentioned 'America' and 'origins of the English language' in the same sentence. So, so predictable.

* * *

France ended up joining England at a reasonably palatable British restaurant for dinner (which was only the case because it avoided traditionally British foods). He picked at his plate of chicken tikka masala and thanked every god in existence that England had not insisted they join him at his house, where they would surely be subjected to England's awful, awful cooking.

"So," England began after they'd settled comfortably into their meal, "what is this about my language?"

"Ah, yes. I was quite curious about the origins of a particular word, or actually, phrase, shall we say. See, 'the English vice' is quite a versatile set of words, isn't it? I do wonder how many meanings beyond 'snobbishness' and 'arrogance' it possesses." France watched in amusement as England's eyebrows immediately contorted and his face turned a light shade of red.

"It can mean many things," England ground out, "Like hypocrisy, for one. And _you_ of all people should know this, as it was one of _your_ critics who claimed thus!"

"Yes, indeed. Hypocrisy, as said by Hippolyte Taine, one of my own," France smiled and continued, "It is very interesting how much you seem to know about my philosophers."

"Well," England snapped, "it's a bit difficult not to notice them when they're blasting uninformed criticisms of my populace, don't you think?"

"Certainly," France confirmed and added, "So then, what are some other meanings of this phrase?"

England gave him an accusatory glare. "I fail to see why you would need _me _to inform you about all of its meanings, especially since a large many of these meanings happen to be defined by _you_."

"Well, there is a French phrase called _le vice anglais_," France began slowly, lips quirking upwards when he realized that England had shuddered involuntarily upon hearing the word in French. It must've reminded him of that lovely folder under 'classified documents' and '1810', he thought. "And England," he continued, "while I may know the multitude of meanings that phrase has, I simply have no idea about its English counterpart. It could be one of those, ahh, what do you call them, false cognates?"

"That is most certainly _not_ the case here!" England snapped. "You know perfectly well what vile things you have said about me in the past, and they are all embodied in that phrase. Now if you've just invited me out here to insult me with mildly veiled blas-"

"No, no," France quickly amended, "that is not the case at all. I admit that I've accused you of many things in the past, but I'm just discovering today that they are far from false. Do you happen to know of any still-classified documents you have from the 1800s?"

"What?" England choked, now red in the face with realization. "What did you just say?"

"It was merely a question," France proclaimed, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. "I was transferring those old songs over, but I wasn't quite sure where I ought to put them. Then I noticed a very...well, a very unencrypted classified documents folder. I suppose _le vice anglais_ is quite worth classifying, isn't it?"

"Goddamnit France," England cut in, "if you tell _anyone_, you absolute shite, I swear I will have your head!"

"I think your inclusion of _Histoire d'O _was quite a nice touch, _Angleterre_," France mused.

"Would you just shut your filthy mouth? I have no intentions of reading such a manual of filth—"

"It is very interesting, England," France continued, ignoring England's outburst, "your motto is French, your porn is French, I wonder what other parts of you I can lay claim to?"

"Fucking hell," England snarled, "it's just like _you_ to go snooping through other people's personal files without their permission! Do you have any sense of shame or privacy? I ought to—"

"You ought to have me caned, right? Perhaps if we can find an old Victorian schoolroom, then you can ask me to—ahh—'name each of my transgressions' and then 'count the strokes', non?" France chuckled, glad that he'd remembered a few quotes verbatim from those videos. And judging by the even more scandalized look on England's face, he clearly knew _exactly_ what France was quoting.

"You—how _dare_ you!" England looked to be doing his best to keep as quiet as he could given the situation, for he did not want people openly gawking at their table. "You and your miserable existence! Clearly you have nothing better to do than go through other people's stuff and ruin every life you come across!"

"Now, now, England, I have no intentions of ruining your life. Possessing pornography is a perfectly normal, non-life-ruining thing, don't you think? I'll bet the children you've raised all have some in their possession, though it is likely that they do a far better job of hiding it. After all, if you consider a document classified, you _encrypt_ it." France winked as he said 'encrypted' and England choked on his food just a bit more.

Then, unable to come up with any coherent insults, England resorted to the most primordial of all curses. "Fuck you, France!"

"So much for a proper gentleman," France concluded, shaking his head. Then, because he couldn't stop himself, he added, "You know, England, if you liked _Histoire d'O_, I recommend you read the works of Marquis de Sade. He's got quite the collection, I must say. And speaking of word origins, his very name was the origin of the word 'sadism', _non_?"

England made a horrified sound, and France just laughed.

* * *

_Le vice anglais_ - indeed a French term for caning/spanking/whipping/etc, probably due to its prevalence in British public schools. As it so happens the term 'the English vice' has a multitude of meanings, ranging from the previously mentioned sadomasochism to hypocrisy to arrogance, most of which were coined by the French to criticize the English.

_Histoire d'O_ - to quote Wikipedia, 'an erotic novel published in 1954 about dominance and submission by French author Anne Desclos under the pen name Pauline Réage'.

England's motto is indeed in French, something I was very surprised to discover.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated! I might write more, actually, I do have a continuation idea in mind (related to a piece of recent news), though I'm not sure if that should go in a separate one-shot or not.


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